


what one finds in the snow

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Jonsa 100 Drabble Challenge, Lord Commander SNow goes to the Eyrie au, alayne stone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20502875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: I was inspired by this old post of @theirwinterfell's over on tumblr - https://jonsa-creatives.tumblr.com/post/187369744358/theirwinterfell-stone-and-snow-that-was-allAnd I've managed to fit this into the prompt 'frightened' from the jonsa 100 drabble challenge!I tag zarahjoyce and give you the prompt: party





	what one finds in the snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarahjoyce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/gifts).

> I was inspired by this old post of @theirwinterfell's over on tumblr - https://jonsa-creatives.tumblr.com/post/187369744358/theirwinterfell-stone-and-snow-that-was-all
> 
> And I've managed to fit this into the prompt 'frightened' from the jonsa 100 drabble challenge!
> 
> I tag zarahjoyce and give you the prompt: party

The Eyrie is perhaps the most peculiar castle Jon has visited as Lord Commander, nestled high in the Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by nothing but air, craggy rocks and soaring birds.

He and his retinue of men had stopped at every castle on their way, trying in vain to recruit more help wherever they could. It is hard work convincing the lords and ladies of the unconvincable. The Vale is their last planned stop. Jon cannot afford to be away from his post at Castle Black any longer, not with the dead marching upon it. 

Their little lordling warden at least seems intrigued by Jon's plight. Of course, when everyone believes your pleas to be based on nothing more than stories to scare small children, the intrigue of one child doesn't get you very far.

Sighing to himself, Jon pulled on his gloves and prepared to make his way through one of the Eyrie's fine gardens to seek the kitchens in hopes of scrounging something to break his fast early. The day was young and the dawn's sky a pale grey as it littered the earth with snowflakes drifting down and melting in his hair. A thick blanket of white had already settled. It hadn't been there the previous day when he'd arrived and Jon can't help think he's brought winter down from the North with him.

He finds himself on a balcony that runs the length of this particular garden. Below, shrubs are crusted with a dusting of snow and statues oversee the silent fall of icy white powder. Everything is still, everything is quiet, until he hears a sweet humming coming from somewhere below.

He shifts in order to seek the origin of the mellifluous tune and as his view is bettered, he sees a cloaked figure knelt in the snow and hears a woman's soft singing. He squints and sees her hands deftly manoeuvring snow here and there, packing it tight together or gently sculpting it into some shape or other that she's obviously determined to create very carefully.

Jon smiles to himself. When he were a lad at Winterfell, a good sudden snowfall meant a snowball fight without a doubt. He and Robb would captain a team each and divide their siblings, Theon and some of the young stable hands to play against each other. The trick was to find a good base with a something to duck behind to avoid a snowball to the face. That, and a surplus of ready-made ammunition. 

One time, his sister Sansa had wanted to be included in the game which was a very rare occurrence.

_"She can't be on our team. Sansa can't throw!" Arya complained. But, while that may be true, Robb's team already outnumbered theirs so it was only fair Sansa join Jon's side of the snowball war about to occur._

_"Will I get dirty?" Sansa asked, twiddling her gloved hands in her pretty sky blue skirts. Arya shot Jon a look of exasperation which only made him snort._

_"Not if you stay ducked down here," he showed Sansa, gesturing behind the pile of snow his team had built up as a defensive wall in preparation. Sansa nodded and moved to kneel, hiding behind the pile. The moment the snow must've melted through her skirts and stockings to wet her skin was evident by the way she screwed up her nose. Jon thought it was kind of adorable and laughed before crouching down on his haunches in front of her. "Your job is to keep us all loaded with snowballs to throw," he instructed her. She bit her lip and nodded, her Tully blue eyes on him and attentive. Jon scooped up some snow and pressed it together, shaping it into the perfect weapon for their war. "About this size," he showed her. Sansa nodded again and began her task._

_She was meticulous. Before the fight had started, Sansa had prepared two huge piles of perfectly crafted balls of snow, each one shaped beautifully and with such care. It was almost a shame to throw them._

The girl Jon was watching now was treating the snow in the exact the same careful manner that Sansa had all those years ago. 

Jon leant forward, resting his hands on the wooden rail of the balcony, content to watch her and listen to the sweet tune drifting up from her lips. The rail creaked with his weight and the girl looked up sharply with a gasp, a pretty shade of blue flashing in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Jon called out, his breath a swirling mist chasing his words. He could quite clearly see her own breathing - ragged from the shock he must've given her. 

She stood, staring up at him and took a step closer. Jon smiled at her. He had not meant to give her a fright. Removing her hood afforded him a better view of her face. Her skin was as pale as cream but her cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. Snowflakes began to gather and kiss the crown of her dark hair. She is a very pretty maid, just as beautiful as the scene she finds herself in.

"Jon?" She asks, making him frown.

"Have we met?"

A creak and the sound of someone entering the garden has her startled again. She turns in the direction of the noise before glancing back at him and then sprinting away as fast as the thick snow would allow.

Creasing his bow, Jon leans over the rail to watch her go. Whatever could've spooked the girl so?

"Lord Commander," Lord Baelish greets, walking forward and calling up to him on the balcony. "I see you've met my bastard," he gestured in the direction that the girl had fled before glancing down to whatever it was she had been sculpting from snow. "I hope she wasn't bothering you," he said, stomping on his daughter's creation.

Jon clenched his jaw and pulled back from the rail. "Bastards are of no bother to me, my lord."


End file.
